


Planning My Crash Landing

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Physical hurt/comfort, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: Stiles couldn’t remember who told him death was painless, but whoever did lied to him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156





	Planning My Crash Landing

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, everybody? I hope you all are doing well, despite the world still being a figurative and literal dumpster fire.  
> Here's some random hurt/comfort, love confession-y goodness, because why else am I here?  
> Hope you all enjoy!  
> The title comes from "Ode to Sleep" by Twenty-one Pilots.

_Bang._

Stiles couldn’t remember who told him death was painless, but whoever did lied to him. 

It hurt so bad that it knocked his brain offline for a second, reducing all conscious thought to incoherent screaming, so that he had to physically look down to deduce what happened. 

There was a bloody hole over his sternum, at the center of his rib cage above his diaphragm. 

“That’s not good,” he slurred and promptly collapsed.

“ _Someone catch him_!” he heard somebody- Lydia, probably- shout as his legs gave out on him, but no one was there to keep him from hitting the ground with a dull thud, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

The landing jarred him and his vision swam, marred here and there by black dots like pockets of shadow. 

“ _Stiles_!” he heard someone yell. Their voice was nice but it stung to hear it so loudly. His head and the gunshot wound throbbed in time with his heart. His whole body ached. “Stiles,” they said again, and slid onto their knees beside him. 

Derek’s face came into his view, blurred but present. “Oh god, you’re bleeding. Stiles, what were you thinking, you idiot?”

Stiles went to make a witty response but choked on it as Derek tore off his shirt and pressed it firmly over his torso. The wave of pain was enough to almost make him pass out, but- sadly enough- he remained conscious. 

“H-hurts,” he finally bit out, voice cracking. 

He sounded far away, which probably wasn’t great. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m gonna get you help, okay?” Derek’s voice was panicked, and Stiles figured that wasn’t good either. 

He scooped him up, and Stiles whined pitifully. How Derek managed to carry him and keep pressure on the wound, he didn’t know. 

Werewolf multitasking skills. 

“Der, I don’t- I don’t think I’m gonna-” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” He growled. “Jackson, you need to get us to the hospital. Everyone else needs to call Argent and get him here for clean up.” He paused before adding a soft, “Lydia, call the Sheriff.” 

Jackson rushed over, grabbing Derek’s keys. 

Derek got in the back with Stiles halfway in his lap, holding him close and keeping the cloth- which was thoroughly soaked in his blood- against his abdomen. 

Stiles felt his eyelids start to droop, heavy as if they had lead weights upon them, blessed numbness and shadow pulling him under. 

Derek cradled his jaw with his free hand and forced him to meet his intensely worried gaze, “ _No_. You need to stay awake for me, Stiles. No sleeping until we get you to the hospital.” 

“But, I don’ wan’ be awake. I’ hurts,” he mumbled petulantly. 

“I know, I _know_ that it hurts, but you have to stay with me. You have to stay awake, okay, sweetheart?” 

Stiles smiled- a little, delirious thing- and nuzzled his palm at that. “S’nice. Sweetheart’s nice,” he said. 

He huffed, fondly, and combed his hair out of his face, “Don’t die and I’ll make it a habit, okay?” 

The wound gave a nasty throb again, and Stiles hazarded a look down to where his blood was spreading up his shirt and into Derek’s.

He choked when Derek pressed the bit of cloth tighter over the injury in response. “Shh, Stiles-- you’re doing good, so good, just don’t look at it, okay?” 

He tore off another chunk of his shirt, decimating the poor garment, and ripped it in half. He folded one of the halves up and gently nudged it between Stiles’ teeth. 

“Bite down on that, honey,” he whispered, looking like he was in just as much pain as Stiles. “This is going to sting.” 

Derek pressed the other piece of fabric to his wound, pushing down even harder on his skin. 

Stiles shrieked, clamping his jaw as his teeth dug ruthlessly into the piece of Derek’s shirt. Black crept into the edges of his vision, and he dimly wondered if dying from a bullet was as peaceful as drowning. 

The car had barely screeched to stop before Derek was out of it, cradling Stiles in his arms and booking it into the ER. 

“Melissa!” He shouted. 

Melissa’s head shot up from where she was sitting at the nurse’s station, eyes widening. “Derek? Derek, what happened?” 

A few of the other nurses were running over with her, rushing over a gurney. Stiles watched them with foggy eyes, listless and disconnected. 

Derek hesitated before laying him down, looking torn, “I’m sorry, Stiles.” 

“He’s gonna be okay, Derek. You did good bringing him here,” Melissa called over her shoulder as she wheeled Stiles away. 

Stiles finally got swallowed by the shadows on the edges of his sight, and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he heard Derek say his name. 

***

He woke up groggily, blinking several times before he actually realized where he was. 

The hospital. 

He frowned, sizing himself up as much as he could being half-covered by blankets. He was sore, yeah, but it didn’t feel like the ‘I-almost-died-kind,’ unless he was still hopped up on-

There was a hand holding his, black veins snaking up the back of it. 

Derek- asleep, one of his hands cradling Stiles’ and the other shoved into the pocket of his jacket, his chin falling forward with how he was slumping over- was in the chair next to his bed. 

“Der?” he asked, absently rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the little racing tendrils. “Derek?” 

“Hm?” He grumbled, eyes half-opening, before he was shooting up in his seat, his hand leaving Stiles. 

He tried not to wince at the loss, especially when a biting ache settled in his abdomen. 

“I’m sorry, I did _not_ mean to fall asleep,” he said, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“You’re good, dude. Even if the impromptu sleepover _was_ a problem, you definitely made up for it with the pain drain.” 

Derek snorted, shaking his head a little before he seemed to focus again, frowning. “You’re an idiot,” he said. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Care to explain?” 

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face before reaching down to interlace their fingers again, stealing the pain away from Stiles’ very bones. “You almost died. The bullet-- it damaged things, things that could have very easily killed you if we hadn’t gotten here in time. You almost died, from a bullet you took for _me_.” 

“It would’ve killed you.” 

“It almost _did_ kill you.” 

“Yeah, _almost_ ,” Stiles said. “But I’m still kicking. That’s the key word. Because if it had hit _you_ , it wouldn’t have been an ‘almost.’ You would have _died_.” 

He could feel Derek start to pull away, and tightened his grip on his hand as much as he could, fighting the weakness in his fingers. Derek stayed anyways, even though they both knew there was no way Stiles could actually keep him there if he didn’t want him to. 

“I won’t apologize for it,” he told him, voice quiet. “I _am_ sorry that you were worried, but I’m alright now, okay? _You_ saved me.” 

Derek stared at him, and then deflated, nodding. “We saved each other.” 

He grinned, “We’re good at that.” 

Derek smiled back at him, small and crooked, and moved to card his hair from his face. Except, somewhere along the way, he ended up cupping Stiles’ jaw with a warm palm, and leaning forward-- close enough that he could feel the puffs of his breath over his face, and see the tiny flecks of gold in his green eyes. 

“Der?” he asked. 

“This okay?” his voice was soft and still, like he was afraid of popping their little bubble of calm. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. C’mon, Derek, kiss me.” He didn’t at first, not until Stiles slid a hand up his arm and over his shoulders, playing with the shorts hairs at the nape of his neck. “Please?” 

He finally moved, pressing his lips to Stiles’ so gently that he was sure he was dreaming. He kissed him breathless, leaving him totally devastated with the _love_ taking root in his chest, in his belly. He was completely convinced that he was tripping on whatever pain meds they’d given him until he tried to shift closer, and a hot bolt of pain shot through his stomach, making him regret breathing for a moment even when it faded quickly with the help of werewolf mojo. 

He hissed, pulling away as Derek gently pushed his shoulders back down onto the pillow. 

He came near enough to place another kiss on the corner of Stiles’ mouth before settling back down in his chair. 

“Damn, if I would’ve known this what it would take to get you to make out with me, I would’ve gotten shot sooner.” 

Derek snorted, “It wasn’t _that_ good of a kiss, Stiles.” 

“Oh, it was. And I haven’t even gotten your tongue in my mouth yet.” 

“Keep talking and you never will.” 

He grinned at Stiles’ offended squawk, but kept rubbing little circles into the back of his hand with his thumb and draining the aching. 

Stiles still counted it as a win.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Until next time,  
> \- Sins
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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